FENTRESS, TENNESSEE
John Horv‡th Jr.
Fill ’er up; check the oil, left rear’s a bit tread.
It’s a right pretty machine, this Caddy you got
Folks plant tobacco, plant sorghum;
walk along the creek; hunt possum, some.
Town Hall burnt down with the records;
Course, makes it seem something’s hid,
but it ain’t.
Mountains are sunrise; Nashville’s toward sunset,
and the most of you folk seem headed that way.
A black boy come through, back ’46 I believe.
Moved to City ’bout then; poured concrete
at Oak Ridge. Seen black and white, even a redman
that wasn’t for chew, and some what were yellow
but ain’t.
Hasn’t changed much all the years in these parts,
exceptin’ passin’ through fellas a once in a while,
There’s talk I killed a man, some jus’ say I killed a black.
Others like it told that I’ve a missus and sprouts round
Paint Rock; Truth is, here my whole life...once I got back.
Up in these hollers, the costs a bit dear--
over eighty six octane, there’s a state tax on liquor
Y’all come again soon...do y’hear.
Travel’s the sinner’s way out.
